


before you could breathe, I breathed for you

by slightlykylie



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hicsqueak, More angst than I intended but oh well, Pregnant!Hecate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlykylie/pseuds/slightlykylie
Summary: “'Pippa.'Pippa glances up sharply at Hecate’s tone. 'What is it?''I think…' Hecate takes a breath, tries to force herself to speak levelly and calmly.  She nearly manages it.  'I think something is wrong with the baby.'"
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	before you could breathe, I breathed for you

A lazy Sunday morning, rich sunlight spilling across the pastel decor of Pippa’s room. Pippa is knitting a hat for the baby; her knitting is terrible, but Hecate’s given up on trying to get her to stop. Hecate’s marking papers at the desk, pausing much more often than she can justify to rest a hand on her belly, reveling in the little life growing there. Suddenly she sits bolt upright. Pippa, absorbed in her knitting, doesn’t notice. Hecate sits that way for five, ten minutes, color draining from her face. Finally she says, “Pippa.”

Pippa glances up sharply at Hecate’s tone. “What is it?”

“I think…” Hecate takes a breath, tries to force herself to speak levelly and calmly. She nearly manages it. “I think something is wrong with the baby.”

A split second later Pippa is at her side, holding Hecate with one arm, running her hand over her hard, taut bump with the other. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“If I knew I would tell you, Pippa.” Hecate recognizes the harshness in her voice, born of fear, and modifies her tone. “It feels like little jerky movements within me. Not like kicks, less strong than that, but it is happening almost constantly. It… feels like the baby is spasming, somehow.”

“Spasming.” They both take a minute to let that word sink in.  _ Spasms. Seizures. Palsy. Convulsions.  _ Hecate is biting her lip, trying to stop its quivering; Pippa’s eyes have gone blank. 

Then with a gesture, she’s dissolved the room around them and transported them to their obstetrician’s office. The staff here are witches and wizards, but healing is an imprecise area of magic and thus much of their treatment is thoroughly non-magical. And so the atmosphere here is little different from what might be found in countless non-magical doctors’ offices across the country, and it is not comforting. They sit in the waiting room, Hecate’s spine ramrod straight, jaw set hard, the thin line of her lips trembling at intervals despite her best efforts. Pippa is stroking the curve of Hecate’s belly with one hand; she can’t feel anything, but each time there’s a new spasm Hecate jumps, and Pippa jumps with her. Pippa is thinking about how much she wants this baby, how much she has always wanted this baby. Hecate is thinking about how she never thought she wanted this, had scoffed at the idea when it came up at all, but all along this little seed was lying dormant under her stubbornness and the hard shell she'd made for herself, and now that it’s begun to bloom she can’t imagine wanting anything more. 

They wait and wait and the urge to scream is rising in Pippa, the urge to grab the placid receptionist by the throat and demand to see the doctor  _ now _ . But Hecate needs her to be better than that. She keeps stroking Hecate’s belly, trying to reach the tiny being within with her magic. She’s not sure it’s doing anything. 

“We’ll get through this, Hiccup, whatever it is," she whispers. Hecate nods, once. The line of her jaw doesn’t soften. 

But after a moment she whispers, “My Pipsqueak.” Then, “Don’t leave me.”

Pippa stares at her in astonishment. “You know I never would, Hiccup.”

“I know,” Hecate says, in a voice so low Pippa has to lean in to hear. “I just wanted you to tell me.”

“Never, darling.”

Hecate nods again. 

She turns her attention to the life within her, murmuring experimentally to the baby.  _ Child of mine, in my womb sealed -- by love, by light, you shall be healed.  _

Another spasm. 

She takes Pippa’s hand, sends a current of her own magic through it. Pippa nods. They whisper together:  _ Of both your mothers’ lives we give: in health and joy, our child shall live. _

They wait to feel their own strength leaving them, going out to the baby. Nothing happens. Hecate feels two more spasms.  __

Finally, finally, they’re escorted into an exam room. Hecate doesn’t want to lie back on the table, it makes her feel so vulnerable, but there’s nothing else to do. The knot of her bun juts out uncomfortably against the vinyl headrest, keeping her from resting her head; Pippa releases the braid from its pins and pulls it down over Hecate’s shoulder, then takes her hand. Hecate’s face doesn’t change, but her grip on Pippa’s hand is viselike.

The indignity of the cold gel on her belly, the probing wand. The tech had been keeping up a pointless stream of small talk as he was getting set up, but now, as he moves the wand around, digging it in hard sometimes, he’s silent. He takes what seems like a long time, first with Hecate on her back, then turning her on her side. He finishes with the wand, then drags out another piece of equipment and listens through headphones to the baby doing whatever it's doing. Pippa and Hecate watch the screen, which is mostly a black-and-white blur, until there's nothing more to see. Hecate closes her eyes then, tries to cradle the baby with her magic, with her own life. Pippa's hands are on Hecate's shoulders, firm and solid, an anchor for Hecate. For both of them. 

Finally he’s done, sets the headphones aside and faces them straight-on. They stare at him dumbly, suspended in an agony of waiting. A breath, and then -- 

“Looks like your baby has the hiccups.”

A gasp from Hecate, a small squeak from Pippa. The technician is smiling. Hecate turns to Pippa --

“ _ Not one word.” _

Technically, the peal of laughter bursting from Pippa’s lips doesn’t count as a word. 

Nestled safely within Hecate’s body, the baby hiccups again. 


End file.
